O Jerusalem - Laurie R. King [90]
“Oh, yes.”
“Then you agree that evil walks in human guise. I call that a demon. You call it what you may. And yes, he came here, three days after the Western celebration of Christmas.”
“How did you… know what he was? What did he do?”
“I did not know at first meeting him. A holy man might have done; ordinary human beings are not given such a degree of insight. I watched him.
“A… being such as he lives for the discomfort of others. He feeds off any degree of pain. He probably grew up pulling the wings off butterflies and graduated to hurting small animals. Under a régime such as our past rulers oversaw, such a tendency would be a useful thing. It would have been fostered, put to work. Under the guise of promoting order, keeping disruption and revolt in its place, he was without a doubt one of those men allowed to feed his urges while serving his masters: politics and pleasure intertwined. I have seen other backs like yours, Mr Holmes. I have seen far worse. His sort is adept at inflicting torment; one might even call him a connoisseur of pain—both physical and, through the body, the spiritual agony of guilt and shame. Certainly he understands that injuries to the spirit tend to be longer lasting than those of the body.
“Now, after years of freedom to do as he wished under official sanction, he can no longer control his need for causing hurt as once he undoubtedly could. It is a compulsion. When he came here, he could not resist reaching for the hand of Brother Antoninus, twisted by arthritis, and squeezing it firmly. He had to seek out one of our younger brothers who is going through a period of doubt, and suggest further things for the young man to worry about. Similar events, little things, but, in a small community, potentially deadly. After the second day I had to let him know I was watching him. He left the next morning. I considered it fortunate that we only lost a few possessions, most of them easily replaced.”
“What did you lose, Abbot?”
“As you said, two habits, a dozen large candles and some small ones.”
“Two habits?”
“Two. Also one of our climbing ropes—”
“Climbing ropes?” I interrupted. It was only the second time I had spoken, but the image of mountaineering monks was too incongruous for silence.
“We live on a cliff,” Abbot Mattias pointed out with a smile. “There are times when we need to rescue the straying kid of a Bedouin flock or remove a boulder that threatens our heads or our roof tiles. Some of the younger brothers enjoy the task. I know I did when I was younger. Also a small amount of money,” he said, returning to Holmes’ question. “We never keep much. Our needs are met by our mother monastery in Jerusalem.”
“Does that house also dress in the same habits?”
“Of course.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. And one other thing. A small ikon. Not valuable monetarily outside the community, but of historical significance and of great value to us. A painting, six inches by eight, of the Holy Virgin Mother.”
“Have you reported any of this?”
The abbot just smiled sadly. This land had a long way to go before it could think of the police as either friendly or helpful.
“Father Abbot, may I suggest that your house in Jerusalem be warned to watch for any strangers who might be trying to pass themselves off as monks?”
“I shall write to them, yes. However, Jerusalem is filled with strangers in monastic dress, from all the corners of the earth.”
“One last thing.” My head came around involuntarily at the tightness in Holmes’ voice. “Can you give me a description of the man?”
The question surprised the abbot enough to cause his eyes to narrow. “I understood that you had met him.”
“I… encountered him. I should know his voice if I heard it again, his smell, possibly his step, but I never laid eyes upon him.” Holmes’ face was shut up, rock hard but for a tiny spasm of tension in his jaw. I looked back up at the Virgin, who seemed to tell